Vanish

I have an older cell phone. It works well enough and I have no desire to purchase a new one. There are a few surface cracks in the screen, but usually it works just fine. Yesterday, some alert came on telling me that I didn’t have enough storage, memory, something of that nature for the phone to back up properly, so I did what it told me to do and I began deleting files.

I take a lot of photos and I thought I had gotten pretty good at deleting a bunch of them because they are backed up, but apparently I still have too many. I went into the gallery and began to delete work photos of displays and photos of things I hadn’t looked at in quite some time. I was doing well enough, but then I realized I was deleting ones I thought I had deleted already. What I finally realized was happening, was that the phone was going so slowly, the photos that usually vanish in a heartbeat were methodically being deleted one by one in such a painfully slow manner, that forced me to look at them for a moment and then watch them disappear.

I was deleting a lot of nonsense photos, but I was also ridding my phone of the burden of vacation pics that I knew I had not only backed up, but posted on my Facebook page. They were from a roadtrip I went on with my son a year ago. I didn’t like to say goodbye to them being on my phone and close to me, but I knew I had them someplace that I could retrieve them from in a moment’s notice. However, it was oddly painful to watch them go. Tick, tick, tick like the second hand on a clock, moment by moment, one by one I watched them vanish. It tore at my heart strings, it was as if the moments had never occurred or my memories were being stripped away. I know that is not what was really happening, it just felt that way.

Other batches of photos were that of a friend and her boyfriend that is no more. She appeared to be happy in those pictures and even though I didn’t adore the guy, I was happy for her. It seemed like she had found someone that she could be one with and live happily ever after. Pictures of being at social outings where they danced the night away, followed by older images of a trip the three of us took to a garden as well as pics that were sent to me by them of how happy they were. I sat there watching as they slowly vanished from my phone screen. Had they been happy? If yes, then what went wrong? Where did the happiness go? One by one the images vanished, just like the relationship. It’s almost as if it didn’t ever happen.

Pictures of family gatherings, gone, but I didn’t delete all of them. I kept several of my mother’s sister who is now suffering from dementia. She’s a pistol and my twinsie. I need to keep those close at hand, just like anything of my father and pictures I took of old photos that were present at family reunions that include my mother. I need to keep those. I will always need to keep those.

Further back, the video I took of the comedian Lewis Black reading my little note to the universe about my break up with John. What a surreal moment in my life. Within a matter of minutes, I was able to articulate what had happened to me and from all the entries that were submitted, Lewis Black chose mine. It was as if I bared my soul and his was the voice to tell thousands of people my story. I received support from strangers that night that helped me to keep moving away from the nightmare I had lived through.

Yep, that’s a keeper as well as the pics of the Oktoberfest that followed the night I realized I was living a lie and kicked him out. I reached out to family and friends to join me for a beer and help me “get over” being lied to for nine years. I was deeply touched by the variety of folks that took me up on my offer. My brother, friends from grade school and high school and from jobs past and present. How truly blessed I felt that night, I must keep these photos close to me so I will never forget how deeply loved I am.

Now we’re getting to the nitty gritty, photos and videos of when I thought I was happy. A time when I felt blessed to be in a relationship after all the years of being alone after my marriage ended. I thought I had found the man I would spend the rest of my life with. We had so much fun together, we really did. Now, I sit here and watch the images of my happiness vanish, one by one. Pictures of us together, pictures of him being so handsome, loving and attentive. Pictures of us on vacation and at parades, parties and family gatherings. It hurts to watch them vanish, but then I realize he probably has pictures with her doing all the same things. Why yes, here are the ones of us at the Japanese gardens in the town she lives in. Did he take her there first, or me? Suddenly, I’m not so sad anymore and my phone’s storage appears to be lighter as well.

I’ve always taken a lot of photos. At one point in my life I dared to dream of being a professional photographer, but alas the mere mention of a portfolio frightened me into taking a different path. I took tons of pics during high school and my theater days, but nothing compares to the amount of pictures I took when I had children. Especially the first child, I had to capture every single moment because it all seemed so amazing to me. Look, he’s smiling. Look, he’s eating. Look, he’s sleeping. Look, look, look how amazing my child is and he was, and he is. The second child, maybe less photos were taken, but still I felt the need to capture all the wonder of his being. I have approximately 24 small totes filled with photos of my children before we purchased a digit camera. These totes are labeled with the years they correspond to and they are filled with the photos still in the envelopes they arrived home in from the photo shop. They are labeled and sorted, but they are not where they should be. Where they should be is in albums, the albums I have purchased and sit next to the totes filled with photos.

I have only worked on this project one day, the day my dear friend painfully sat with me and and helped me sort through the first few years of my children’s existence. I hadn’t wanted to look at the photos because they also included images of my ex-husband, but nothing prepared me for the pain of looking at the images of my now grown children as babies, the babies I miss so very much. Their first days of life and many other firsts. First birthdays, first steps, first haircuts and first days of school. All the holiday shows, band recitals, scouting events and graduations and more all neatly tucked away in 24 small totes begging to be remembered.

Then there are the CDs and DVDs of digital photos and videos I had converted. My god, when I pop them into a player, I am instantly transported back into time and I see them, my babies and my heart aches. I see my father, smoking his cigars and being a ham as always. Sadly, I do not have any videos of my mother, nothing. If she came to haunt me, I wouldn’t even know her voice. After 34 years, the memories are fading and all I have left are the old family photo albums, the ones my father put together in a very haphazard way. However, I have them and I can hold them and look at them and remember. I remember, I promise to always remember, I will not let you vanish mom.

I lost my father to dementia and now my mother’s sister is living with it. My greatest fear is that I too will fight this battle one day. I think the most horrifying thing that could happen to me is that I lose my presence and I slip back into the memories of my children being little. I fear that one day I will think that that is where I am, that place in time and I will desperately be looking for them and they will be no where to be found because they will be the adults taking care of me and I won’t even recognize them. In my mind, they will have vanished and I will relentlessly search for them and live in despair because I cannot find my children.

My second greatest fear, is that I will vanish. I do not want to be deleted. Maybe this blog is my feeble attempt to be remembered. Hopefully, my children will tell the stories of their crazy ass mother and her wild shenanigans. Hopefully, I will finish the photo albums and they will keep them, even though they say they do not care about them. They say they do not care about any of the things I have saved from their childhoods. I have the drawings and certificates of honor, the pinewood derby cars and plates with their artwork on them. I have the painted Styrofoam rose that my eldest made for me that says “love” and all of the fancy jewelry they bought for me at the Santa’s secret workshops at school. These are my treasures, no matter how much they do not care, I do and always will.

I hope their memories of me do not vanish. I will live on as long as there are tales to tell about the time mom did one thing or another as they hold a photo of me, in my glory with my arms around my babies. The love will never vanish and therefore, neither will I.